


The Thing With Feathers

by sailormade



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailormade/pseuds/sailormade
Summary: Time passed quickly after that. The distant sound of Clay's voice mingled in with a chorus of others. Lisa could feel herself being moved onto a gurney, and more latex - clad hands on her skin than she could count. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. The disorientation got worse; The room wouldn't stop spinning. Fear, as white hot and all consuming as wildfire, swept through her veins. What the hell was going on? What was happening to her?The last thing that Lisa heard before being wheeled out was Clay saying, "You're gonna' be okay, Davis. You're gonna' be fine."She wasn't so sure.
Relationships: Clay Spenser & Bravo Team, Clay Spenser & Lisa Davis, Lisa Davis/Sonny Quinn
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down/gifts).



> previously known as "catharsis."  
> slowly but surely moving this fic from fanfiction.net to here (don't worry, it'll stay posted on ff.net too). chapters have been tweaked/slightly updated/fixed/ect/all that good stuff. lemme know what you think. comments are love. 
> 
> **if you've read the ff.net version, please do not spoil in the comments.**
> 
> for kat, who gives me hope, even when i'm too stubborn to accept it. or even want it. love you love you love you.

> 
>     **HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS THAT PERCHES IN THE SOUL, AND SINGS THE TUNE WITHOUT THE WORDS AND NEVER STOPS AT ALL; AND THE SWEETEST IN THE GALE IS HEARD, AND SORE MUST BE THE STORM, THAT COULD ABASH** **THE LITTLE BIRD THAT KEPT SO MANY WARM.**
>       

Lisa wanted to tuck her metaphorical tail between her legs and run. She’d somehow managed to upset Clay with her quiet confession—Clay, who already had enough to worry about, who may never walk unassisted again. Guilt tugged at her frayed heartstrings. 

“You’re really gonna’ sit there and tell me that you’re thinking about walking away from your dream?” He asked, incredulous, as though he couldn’t wrap his brain around the idea of her giving up. 

Clay’s words were a hollow-point bullet through the space between Lisa’s fourth and fifth ribs **—** sudden, sharp, and straight to the heart. Her face flushed with shame, uncomfortable and hot. She was so wrapped up in her own problems, and so lost in her own head, that she hadn’t realized how selfish she must sound.

At the end of the day, Petty Officer First Class Lisa Davis had a choice: She could quit OCS and stay enlisted, or she could tough it out and graduate. Clay Spenser didn’t get a choice in his fate. His dream of being a Tier One Operator, one who ran with the infamous Bravo Team big dogs, had been blown to hell by a cleverly hidden IED. There was a good chance that Clay would never walk without the help of a cane again, and there Lisa sat on the edge of his hospital bed, talking about walking away from Officer Candidate School because she was too much of a damn coward to face her fears. 

Lisa might’ve not been a Navy SEAL like Clay, but she had the emotional availability of one. The angry, defeated look in Clay’s eyes set her teeth on edge, made her want to bolt out of the room and into a hail of gunfire. At least a spray of bullets would make her feel at home. She curled her fingers into the faux suede of the little grey seal plushie that she bought Clay and held her ground. As much as it hurt to see a close friend confined to the hospital, so battered and broken down that he was almost unrecognizable, walking away from his bedside would hurt even more.

_Walking away. . ._ Lisa thought about that particular course of action a lot lately: walking away from OCS, from her fledgling relationship with Sonny Quinn, from what little family that she had left. But what would that say about her as a sailor in the world's greatest Navy? As an officer in that Navy?

"I'm sorry," She said. The words tasted like gravel and smoke on her tongue—acrid, chalky, and liable to choke her—but it was all that Lisa could think to say.

Clay glanced down at his bruised hands. Lisa glanced out the window. They sat in silence.

She missed Sonny Quinn so much that it ached in the hollow of her chest. She would've given anything for one of his big, warm bear hugs, and for the sound of his thick Texan drawl in the shell of her ear, reassuring her that everything would be alright.

"D'you. . . I can call the boys, if you want," Lisa offered. "You could say hi to Sonny. He's been asking about you."

Clay’s reply was sharp and quick, like a switchblade being opened. _"No._ I appreciate the offer, Davis, but no. Tell him I'm fine."

"You could tell him yourself, you know. He misses you. So does everyone else. Apparently Jason is running himself in circles, Brock too."

Clay shrugged, but said nothing. Lisa sighed in resignation. She'd hit a brick wall with Clay, and she knew it. His physical injuries might've been on the mend, slowly but surely, but inside he was still an open wound. And the boys of Bravo Team? Well, it didn't take a Master Chief to see that they were the sorest subject of all. Lisa wondered if Clay felt as lost as she did. As cripplingly lonely. 

Silence fell between them again, uneasy and heavy. And, like before, Lisa was unsure of what to say. What could she? Nothing short of a miracle from God could help Clay now. His doctors, surgeons, and nurses have done all that they're able. Only time would tell if Clay could operate again. Or stand on his own two feet.

_'What would you want to hear if you were the one stuck in this bed?'_ She thought to herself. _'What do you need to hear right now?'_

Lisa Davis didn't have an answer. Sometimes words weren't enough; Sometimes nothing in Heaven or on Earth could be enough. She knew that better than anyone.

_'What would you want to hear. . . what would you. . .'_

She couldn't focus, all of a sudden. A bout of dizziness washed over her, and the world tilted on its axis. Not for the first time that day, pain began to radiate around her midsection; The cramping in her abdomen that had plagued her, on and off, since her flight landed intensified. The abrupt pain and lightheadedness made it difficult to concentrate on anything more than staying upright. 

Lisa knew that her bruise still looked nasty, as expected, but should it still be hurting? And this badly? It'd been a day or two since the accident. Should the pain be wrapping around to her lower back, too? She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that would alleviate the discomfort.

Clay noticed.

"You okay, Davis?" He asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Just—during my last firefighting evolution, I don't know. . . I guess I was a little nervous," Understatement of the 21st Century, but Lisa wasn't about to let that secret slip. "I didn't have a great grip on the hose and when I turned it on it slipped out of my grip and started. . . thrashing around. You know how those damn hoses are. It nailed me right in the gut before it hit the ground. I've got a really gross bruise."

"Did you get checked out?"

Lisa scoffed. "I was already humiliated enough, Spenser. If I sulked off to medical over, what, a bruise? I could never show my face at OCS again. I'd be laughed off the compound."

An expression that Lisa couldn't quite place flickered across Clay's face. It was an odd blend of emotion; a little sad, a little fond, a little worried.

"I think you've been spending a little too much time with Jason." He finally said.

Lisa shifted in place again, this time curling her fingers into the seal plushie. She held onto it like a lifeline. The pain grew. And grew. And gradually grew. The room spun around her like a tilt-a-whirl. Even sitting, she felt off balance.

"Davis?" Clay asked.

The concern was clear in his voice. He sat up a little straighter.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," She said, though she wasn't sure if she believed herself or not. "Just, the pain is making me a little nauseous. My stomach has been bothering me since this morning."

"Over a bruise? That's. . . Something isn't right. You need to be looked at. Now. How hard did the end of that hose hit you?"

"Yeah, maybe I. . . I. . ." What was she going to say?

It didn't matter. She was going to be sick.

Lisa stood so that she could make her way to the bathroom, but she only made it a few steps before her knees gave out. She crumpled slowly to the floor.

Pennies. Why could she smell pennies? The scent overwhelmed her. Was she bleeding? She could vaguely hear Clay yelling for help, and yelling something about blood. _Blood. . ._ Where was the blood coming from? Why was she bleeding? Everything below her breastbone hurt. Why did everything hurt? She'd never experienced such painful, debilitating cramps in her life. She couldn't stand. She could hardly breathe.

God, that smell. _Pennies._ She dry - heaved twice before vomiting on the tile floor.

Time passed quickly after that. The distant sound of Clay's voice mingled in with a chorus of others. Lisa could feel herself being moved onto a gurney, and more latex - clad hands on her skin than she could count. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. The disorientation got worse; The room wouldn't stop spinning. Fear, as white hot and all consuming as wildfire, swept through her veins. What the hell was going on? What was happening to her?

The last thing that Lisa heard before being wheeled out was Clay saying, "You're gonna' be okay, Davis. You're gonna' be fine."

She wasn't so sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two photo edits, similar to those in the first chapter, will be added sometime tomorrow or the day after. or perhaps the day after that. i've been a little too busy to fight with photoshop, but i wanted to get this posted. i'm excited to dive back into it. 
> 
> leave me your thoughts, please. ❤

Lisa prayed for internal bleeding. It was a grim, insensitive prayer, she knew, and God would likely smite her where she stood the second that she was allowed to stand again, but it would make her situation a hell of a lot simpler. She held onto a feeble, futile hope that Dr. Allen would walk back into the room and tell her that he’d made a mistake, that he’d accidentally picked up another patient’s chart and that the end of the firehose that whacked her did indeed do damage. That was a scenario that made sense. That was something that Lisa could wrap her mind around.

The actual scenario that Lisa Davis found herself in was a cosmic joke. It had to be. God was laughing at her. Or punishing her. Or both.

Not that that surprised her. Lord knew that she deserved it.

‘Stop thinking,’ She thought. ‘Just stop thinking for two freakin’ minutes.’

If she didn’t, she was going to spiral into another panic attack; Her chest still felt sore from the last one, and her eyes still felt dry and raw from all the goddamn crying.

How long had it been since Dr. Allen left the room? Minutes? Hours? How long had it been since she initially collapsed? Time felt fuzzy and unclear, soft around the edges; And so did Lisa’s head. So did everything.

She figured that Swanny would wheel Clay in to visit her soon, now that she’d been left alone. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see either of them or not. Lisa wanted their company, particularly Clay’s, but he and Swanny would want to know what was wrong with her. And Lisa wasn’t ready to talk about her diagnosis. Not yet. Not ever.

She supposed that she could lie and hope for the best. Dr. Allen informed her that there were two possible outcomes with her condition. If she prayed hard enough, blasphemous as it was, maybe she’d get the latter outcome—the less complicated one. With that outcome, no one would ever have to know. Lying would work. She could get back to OCS, back to Sonny, back to her life.

‘You’d never forgive yourself for lying about this,’ Her conscience chided. ‘Sonny probably wouldn’t either.’

Frustrated, and on the verge of tears, Lisa flung her arm across her eyes and groaned. Why did she have to be so honest? She felt like vomiting again. She truly didn’t have a choice. She had to come clean.

As if on cue, Clay wheeled himself into the room. It felt surreal to see him bound to a wheelchair, and Lisa’s heart cracked down the center for him. Seeing Clay Spencer in a wheelchair was like watching a dolphin swimming its microscopic tank at SeaWorld; Clay's freedom was only an illusion. Sure, he wasn't trapped in his bed, but he was still trapped by his circumstance; DEVGRU burned through Clay's blood like liquid fire. He'd never be happy again if he didn't get out of that damn wheelchair. And Lisa knew that he would, one way or another. She was almost as afraid for him as she was for herself.

"Hey," He said, wheeling to the side of her bed. "You okay?"

**Her** hospital bed. Oh, how the tables have **so quickly** turned. She swore that she could hear the echo of God’s laughter in her ears.

"Yeah, I will be. Just a little dehydrated," Lisa held up her right hand to flash Clay her IV. "Dr. Allen is giving me fluids."

Clay nodded. "Okay, well, that's good. But, what happened? You tanked. . . really fast. Almost took ten years off my already considerably short lifespan. So, ya' know, thanks for that."

Lisa snorted and reached over to playfully shove his shoulder. "Do not **even** joke about that, Clay. Jesus. You don't think you took ten years off mine?"

"Yeah, well, it's true," He said with a lopsided grin. "So, seriously. What happened? You get hit a little too hard?"

And there it was. **The question.** Lisa inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, steeling herself, summoning all of the courage that she could. **Courage**. . . It was one of the Navy's three core values. **Honor. Courage. Commitment.** She was well versed in courage. She could do this. She could.

Looking at Clay made confessing a little easier. He was a friendly, familiar face. He was her friend. She could trust him.

"So. . . good news first, I guess: I don't have any internal bleeding from my showdown with that godawful hose. It turns out that my ugly bruise is just an ugly bruise. But, ugh, bad news," She fisted her sheets in her right hand, out of Clay's sight, and held them as though they were the only thing anchoring her to the earth. "I'm having a threatened miscarriage."

Clay blinked, as though the information didn't quite register. Lisa didn't blame him.

"I'm sorry," He said, furrowing his brows. "Did you say—What?"

"Yup," Lisa flatly confirmed. "You might as well start callin’ me Juno, because I'm knocked up."

The laugh that tore itself from her throat surprised her just as much as it did Clay. It toed the line of hysterical. She gave herself a brief moment to regain her composure before continuing.

"For now, anyway. Like I said, threatened miscarriage. Dr. Allen said it could go either way. I could still lose the fetus," Lisa couldn't, and wouldn’t, bring herself to say the 'B' word. "Or I could get better and me and. . . **it** will be fine."

Clay looked gobsmacked _._ "Wait, hold on. You're telling me that you're—"

She cut him off. " **Don't.** Don't say it. Please. I can’t hear that word again today. But, for the moment, yes."

Clay reached out and gave Lisa's hand a gentle squeeze. They sat in silence, but unlike before, in Clay’s room, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Instead, it felt calming. That little pocket of silence and Clay's hand wrapped warmly around hers were more comforting than Lisa could ever express. She was so grateful for that moment, for Clay Spenser and his bottomless well of selflessness, that she could’ve dissolved into another bout of tears.

"Okay, okay." Clay muttered to himself.

Lisa could almost **see** the gears turning in Clay's head. It was endearing, in a way; He was trying to work her situation like a SEAL, as if her issues were his own now and a mission that needed to be resolved. It reminded her of Sonny. Sonny approached most situations like a SEAL too, even the most minute: like trying to make his ridiculous waterbed in the morning.

Lisa's eyes stung. She wished Sonny were here to hold her hand, too.

"What did Dr. Allen say, going forward?" Clay finally asked. "What's the treatment for this?"

"Just bed rest," Lisa said. "There isn't anything else he can do. He's keeping me for another six hours for repeat blood-work to check my hCG levels and another ultrasound, then he'll discharge me. After that, it's just a horrible waiting game."

She squeezed Clay's hand. "You know what's awful? Like, really gross and terrible and awful?"

"I bet you're gonna' tell me."

Lisa felt her throat getting tight and dry. She struggled to swallow. She struggled to breathe. Embarrassment washed over her like a hot, dirty rain, and shame clawed at her insides like a little feral beast—there was a laundry list of reasons why she wouldn’t be able to look her reflection in the eye again, and each one was almost too much to bare: first and foremost, she’d gotten herself into this clusterfuck of a situation by acting like a lovesick little girl (the kind she so fervently hated), and then she’d let two people see her sob and cry and wail over her own stupid mistake, **like a toddler throwing a tantrum,** and then there was the incident with that goddamn firehose. An incident that should’ve never happened in the first place.

If that hose hadn't slipped out of her sweat-slick grip, if she'd just held on a little tighter, been a little less of a nervous coward. . .She remembered, suddenly, Dr. Allen telling her what she already knew, and what she now couldn’t forget: **"We don't know the exact cause of threatened miscarriages, Ms. Davis, but trauma to the abdomen can absolutely put you at an increased risk."** Which, in layman's terms, meant that this was her fault.

What sort of sorry excuse for a sailor was she? How, Lisa wondered, did she become this much of a mess? When, exactly, did she drop the ball?

"I kind of hope I lose it," She said, breath hitching over the last three words. "And I know that makes me a terrible human being, **I know it does,** because there are a ton of women out there spending thousands and thousands of dollars on IVF treatments, you know? They're desperate for kids. My stupid, stupid mistake is their dream come true. And this? This right here? What I'm over here hoping and fucking praying for? Is their **worst nightmare.** It keeps them up at night. They cry themselves to sleep over this. But I can't be a—I can't. I can't, Clay, I can't. There's no room in my life or my career for. . . an **it**. . . and I'm—And I can't—"

Lisa couldn't stop herself from rambling on and on; It was a nervous tic that she'd learned to hide from a young age.

But this level of panic was different. And the jumbled, garbled words wouldn’t stop pouring from her mouth. She hadn't felt this sort of fear since she was a child, since. . .

**Since. . .**

The panic from earlier rose up within her again, biting at her lungs and squeezing her throat like a hangman's noose. The room was getting smaller. _And spinning._ Her vision dimmed around the edges. Lisa wanted to fling the covers from her body and run until her legs gave out. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe.

"Okay, okay, hey, it's okay," Clay said, rubbing her arm with his free hand. "Deep breaths, Davis. It's okay. We'll figure this out. Don't work yourself up. Breathe with me."

Lisa did as Clay told her. She took a slow, deep breath, and then another, and then one more. It helped, but only some. The panic still lingered in the rear of her mind like a stubborn ghost.

"Alright, you good?"

She shook her head. "No, not really, but I don't think I'm gonna' have another panic attack so that'll have to do for now, I guess."

"You're not a terrible person, Davis. You're one of the good ones. Right now, you're just. . . scared. And that's okay."

Lisa scoffed and wiped at her wet eyes. "I'm not scared. I'm not scared of anything. I'm gonna' be a big, bad Cake Eater, remember?"

**Maybe.** She had a feeling that the Gunnery Sergeant wouldn't casually overlook a pregnant recruit. If she were lucky, her OCS graduation would only be deferred.

"You are," Clay said, surprising her. Usually, he'd just laugh at her witticisms and change the subject.

True to the character of a Special Operator, Clay wasn't big on the whole sharing-and-caring thing. And that was why his next few words, as genuine and heartfelt as they were, touched Lisa so deeply.

"And it's okay," He continued. "Because to tell you the truth. . . I am too, sometimes. When I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't feel my leg at all. When Jace or Sonny call. It's a weird ass feeling, isn't it? Being afraid?”

It was. The fear that gripped her felt archaic, like she'd always lived with it. It froze her down to the core and consumed every part of her. **Sucked her under and swallowed her whole.** It was nothing like the normal, everyday fear that a sailor grew used to feeling while working with DEVGRU. But, like Jason Hayes always said, fearlessness was a habit. . .

"Yeah, it is," Lisa agreed. "I'd rather be back in the burning buildings at Cake Eater Camp."

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Clay wasn't as good at schooling his emotions as Jason and Trent; He had a mediocre poker face, at best. Lisa didn't miss the unease that flickered across his face.

He'd had been caught in an IED blast just weeks earlier, and she said that she'd rather be in a burning building—directly after she said that she wanted to have a miscarriage. Christ. Who the actual holy hell was she?

Clay opened his mouth partially, like he wanted to say something. He didn't.

"Who's the father?" He asked instead, gently.

**Father.** How could a single word carry so much weight? So much grief? Terror? . . . Joy?

"I don't know." She lied.

Lisa knew who the father was. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was Sonny. Not that she could tell Clay that. Or anyone else, for that matter. If their superiors knew about their relationship, they'd both be subject to disciplinary action. She couldn't put either of their careers on the line like that. Bravo Team meant everything to Sonny Quinn. Absolutely everything. She couldn't take that away from him. **She wouldn't.**

"So, there's no one to call?" Clay asked.

Lisa shook her head. "Nope. It's just me and you, Spencer."

Clay didn't look convinced, but decided not to push it. For that, Lisa was grateful.

"So, what time does your physical therapy start?" She asked, desperate to change the subject.

Clay groaned. "Too soon. I guess I should probably wheel my sorry ass back to my room. I'm sure Swanny is trying to figure out how to unlock my phone so he can snoop."

Lisa chuckled. "Think you can come back later? And Swanny too, if he's still hanging around."

"For your ultrasound?" Clay asked, hardly suppressing the smile on his face. "Yeah. Wouldn't miss it."

Lisa thwacked the back of his head. "Hey. **None of that.** "

"Ow! What?"

"Smiling."

Clay's little smile broadened into a grin. It lit up the room, and for a short minute Lisa's world didn't seem quite so dark.

"I'll be here," She said. "Just shoot me a text."

"You got it," He replied and, with a final wave, wheeled himself out of the room.

The smile didn't slip from Lisa's face until a perky lavender-haired nurse breezed into the room to recheck her vitals. She was chirpy and doe-eyed and Lisa wanted to punch her in the throat.

While Nurse Amanda busied herself with the blood pressure cuff and asked curious questions about what life was like in the Navy, Lisa closed her eyes and thought of Sonny. She thought of his eyes. Of his dimples. Of the soft curve of the smile that he reserved for her and only her. She prayed that he was safe and not out trudging through the jungle with the rest of Bravo Team on some hell-bent revenge mission in Clay's honor.

Instead of begging God for internal bleeding or a miscarriage, **a simple way out,** she prayed that Sonny Quinn was still alive.


End file.
